Premature
by The Cake Genius
Summary: You used to believe in destiny, but something has gone oh-so-horribly wrong.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck.**

**A/N: This is somewhat inspired by "Daniel Cowman" by Regina Spektor, which I recommend you listen to while thinking of your feels.**

* * *

You are alone.

Alone, alone, alone.

These days, to be honest (haha, honest, funny word), you're scared of being alone. You were never alone before. You sat with yourself and your vibrant creations. You flirted with whomever you wanted, and you cut things with your tongue and your words. You had big goals and big ambitions.

You'd like to blame it on her, you really would. You wish you could blame it on anyone but yourself.

Aranea had smelled so like her that something deep within you broke. No, not broke, not shattered- it was pierced. Aranea stabbed you in the back, straight through the heart- straight, like justice.

(God, God, make it _stop_.)

You only have yourself to blame.

The first thing you had seen when your sight was restored was her delicate pixie-face blinking at you with blank, milky eyes. You thought then, too, that it was her- but no. No. Vriska could wear her sickening sweetness much better. A Thief is more adept at these things than a healer.

And she stole everything.

You shiver, remembering. You're always remembering. You remember The Game like a scream in your mind, a scream to drown out the light and the red and the blood. So, so much blood. You remember cackling- having the best adventure of your life. You remember flying through the stars on a meteor fit for legislation and sneaking away to revel in dark corners. You remember when Prospit exploded in a flurry of lemony stars, and you remember the the garbled desperateness of Eridan, a pleading under his voice that hinted of breaking.

You loved the taste of brokenness.

There was brokenness in your leader, in the cemented fragments of his shouts and orders; you remember how you laughed.

There was brokenness in the cherry boy, too, and there still is. You sense it like approaching fog, lying underneath his surface, like a bon-bon cream, or a firecracker. His strangeness compelled you, once.

Most of all, you remember her. The blue stands out like shadows in your mind. Blue for ambition, blue for cunning, blue for hatred, blue for death. Blue for stolen moments in the halls, blue for the scratches you licked from her shoulders.

Blue is for drowning, blue for revenge.

It's times like these when he finds you, at your weakest. You feel him now, in the dark, always in the dark. You claw at your eyelids. _Pretend, pretend._ You remember that he used to smell like sticky grape cough syrup.

He presses against your back, whispering in your ear, and you want to scream, both at him and from him. Repulsion rises in your throat like bile- the most you've tasted in weeks. When his arms snake around your stomach, they feel like hers. A shiver of disgust and fear races down your spine.

If they could see you now...

You want to be blind when he kisses you, but he forces you to look at him. You can see the blood in his eyes. You should have killed him when you had the chance.

You used to believe in destiny, but this plan has gone oh-so-horribly wrong. Like a broken mirror. A scratched record.

You should be dead. He's good at reminding you.

You think of Dave, how he would hate you if he knew. You think of him as you pretend this isn't happening, think of him wrapping his arms around you, _tz its no big deal dont be dumb come on_

_wake up_

(His nails draw blood from your thighs, and he snarls and honks like a madman. It makes your stomach cold and roiling with sugary, vomit-y pinpricks of emotion.)

_WAKE UP, TEREZI, FOR GOD'S SAKE. WE HAVE SHIT TO DO, YOU CAN'T JUST LIE THERE AND TAKE IT. GET THE FUCK OFF YOUR ASS AND GET MOVING. OR DO YOU NOT REMEMBER THE WHOLE "SAVING OUR PLANET AND RACE" THING? OH, YEAH, TOTALLY NOT IMPORTANT, I GET IT, KEEP BEING THE BULGESUCKER YOU ARE._

_GODDAMMIT, TEREZI, WE NEED YOU ON THIS TEAM._

_hey gc_

_is this you_

_SURE, I GUESS WE CAN BE FRIENDS, IF YOU'RE REALLY THAT FUCKING DESPERATE AND LONELY._

(You're crying, now. His tongue is slimy and insulting and reviling, and you want to just _die_ already...)

But she takes precedence. She always does.

_Tereeeeeeeezi._

(Make it stop.)

_Hey, Terezi. Want to play a game?_

_It's called, "Taste the Denial on the Useless 8itch!" Sounds fun, right?_

_Terezi, come plaaaaaaaay._

_Let's play a gaaaaaaaame, Terezi._

_Hahahahahahahaha!_

She digs her spidery ghost-talons into your flesh. Her memory is a symphonic cacophony, echoing painfully through your mind.

Mind. Mind, mind.

_You lost yours loooooooong ago._

You cum in a shuddering, unclean rush, holding back a scream, and he pulls out of you so roughly you think you might be bleeding. You don't even catch it, and he leaves it to you to clean yourself up.

Clean yourself up. Like that will happen. You're a sin wrapped in guilt, wrapped in regret.

It stabs you through your back and straight through your heart.

_Justice._

You are alone.


End file.
